


Open Book

by itsmoonpeaches



Series: Ten Thousand Things [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Air Nomads (Avatar), Dead Aang (Avatar), F/M, Family, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, Katara (Avatar)-centric, Post-100 Year War (Avatar TV), Post-Avatar: The Last Airbender, Post-Avatar: The Legend of Korra, Post-Canon, Spirit World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmoonpeaches/pseuds/itsmoonpeaches
Summary: Katara had not been to Republic City in a long time. Not in twenty-one years. She had not seen the island that used to be her home in the same amount of time, a part of her afraid that she would never be able to leave. It was not the memories of him that kept her away, but her own heart.She smiled as she spotted the person she was looking for. She raised a hand.“Gran Gran!” shouted Jinora as she ran for her. She tackled Katara around the middle, and they giggled together.Katara hugged her eldest granddaughter close. She was almost as tall as her now at age fourteen. She was just as enthusiastic as when she had last seen her.“Gran Gran, I missed you so much! As soon as I read your letter and you said you were coming, I told dad right away!” Jinora bounced up and down, grinning wide. “I can’t wait to show you everything! I’m sure there are so many things that changed since you were last here!”-Or, Jinora brings Katara into the Spirit World to find Aang.
Relationships: Aang & Jinora (Avatar), Aang & Katara (Avatar), Aang/Katara (Avatar), Jinora & Katara (Avatar), Katara & Tenzin (Avatar)
Series: Ten Thousand Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976455
Comments: 31
Kudos: 91





	Open Book

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OceanMyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanMyth/gifts).



> This one is for OceanMyth because if it weren't for them, I wouldn't have started to brainstorm a sequel to Turning Page. I wasn't even planning on making one originally, but here were are. Now, this is part 2 of a 3 part series!
> 
> This one is kind of different. I incorporated some real-life practices loosely influenced by Tibetan Buddhism that ended up being the reason for this story. I'm not sure if it turned out well, but one can only hope.

She had chosen to take a ship. In the early morning, the boat was docked at the main port of the Southern Water Tribe, moored near the spot where Sokka’s makeshift watchtower had been all those years ago. The floes bobbed on the surface of the ocean, a familiar sight. The salty scent of the sea was familiar as well, just as she had always known it. This at least, was a comfort.

There were things that always changed, and this was a fact of life that no one—not even the staunchest supporters of the old Earth Kingdom monarchy—could dispute. Nevertheless, there were times when Katara dabbled in the impossible. After all, she had spent much of her life doing just that.

Before, she could only imagine what it would have been like to travel the world, to see all the sights she could hear from the warriors that came home during the war. She was a girl that lived in her dreams, trapped in a place and a home where she could not truly be herself. There had been no one to teach her to waterbend in the proper way, and there was no one in her little village that entertained the kind of hope she carried with her.

Until, of course, she and Sokka found him. A boy in the iceberg.

Katara did not need to repeat the story for the world to know it. The decades that passed her by were kind to hers and her friends’ legacies. They remained prominent figures of history, larger-than-life prodigies of their time. Except, there was so much more than that.

Katara was grateful more than anything that they would remember _him_ the way they did. She was happy that her brother too had found a way to etch his name into the heroes of the past. She was happy, and yet…

“Ah, Master Katara!” a man saluted her as she boarded the ship. “Please, let me carry your baggage.”

He stooped over, taking her meager belongings in his hand. She would have offered to carry it herself when she was younger, but she was older now. Her bones ached with age, though her spirit was strong.

Everywhere she went, people still bowed to her in respect, looked on at her with awe. She could still fight if she wanted, still hold her own. But there was less of that fire within her than there had been, and more of a need to heal. She had never wanted to be a healer. She had always wanted to fight. What she had not anticipated was that she would want to be a healer who could fight, and a fighter that could heal. She supposed that was what was most important, the ability to choose.

Katara had made a name for herself, by herself. She would always be proud of that fact. Yet, she knew that there was someone out there that would have been prouder still.

She drew herself up to the deck, seeing for the first time the clouds that were outlined in silver-gray. They drifted by on a slight wind, and the steam from the ship lifted to meet them. The hull glided on the ocean waves. The captain had begun to steer the ship out of the harbor.

As she looked onward, she paid the most attention to the open sky. _Let your spirit be free,_ she told herself. She told herself this every day. It was one of his teachings that she never forgot, and she kept it close to her chest.

“Master Katara, would you like to sit?” asked a young woman. Her blue eyes twinkled in the sunlight. She gestured to a few benches behind her in a portion of the deck reserved for those like her who enjoyed the taste of the sea.

“Yes,” Katara agreed, “Thank you.”

It was not difficult to accept the help she was offered. It was a kindness that she appreciated, and a kindness that she wished he could see. She thought that perhaps he could. Somewhere, wherever he may be.

Hours passed. She had made her way to her quarters for the night. In her cot, she dreamed of flying on the back of an air bison, the smooth saddle pressing against her knees. Laughing as he kissed her in the middle of a thunderstorm, grasping her hand as they ran to the center of it, his fingers sweeping away her soaked hair from her face. She dreamed of his eyes like the clouds, shining and awake, starlight in the middle of the day. Wonderful, just as he was.

When she awoke, she was alone. She told herself that her spirit needed to be free like she did every morning. She walked down the plank, a man assisting her with her baggage, and looked on to the city before her.

Katara had not been to Republic City in a long time. Not in twenty-one years. She had not seen the island that used to be her home in the same amount of time, a part of her afraid that she would never be able to leave. It was not the memories of him that kept her away, but her own heart. 

She smiled as she spotted the person she was looking for. She raised a hand.

“Gran Gran!” shouted Jinora as she ran for her. She tackled Katara around the middle, and they giggled together.

Katara hugged her eldest granddaughter close. She was almost as tall as her now at age fourteen. She was just as enthusiastic as when she had last seen her.

“Gran Gran, I missed you so much! As soon as I read your letter and you said you were coming, I told dad right away!” Jinora bounced up and down, grinning wide. “I can’t wait to show you everything! I’m sure there are so many things that changed since you were last here!”

Her granddaughter was right, of course. Twenty-one years was a long time. She had seen pictures of the city in news clippings, heard stories of the incredible Satomobiles from Korra and Asami, but there was nothing in comparison to this. _This_ was not the Republic City Katara recalled. It had become a metropolis unlike any she had ever encountered, even Ba Sing Se.

Many of the buildings she had helped to establish were there, including the hospital. But things were modernized. There was steel everywhere, honking in the streets, bright lights that burned through windowpanes with electricity. People walked faster, talked faster. Gone were the days of ostrich horse pulled carts and lamplit lanes.

A beam of yellow-white light shot out from dilapidated buildings in the center of the financial district, tangled spirit vines still visible even from the port. It looked like the end of the world in the middle of civilization.

But there was something magnificent about it at the same time. Gliding spirit dragons swam in the sky by the pillar of light, bobs of sprites, sparkling creatures that could be seen from afar. This, of all things, was what Katara wanted to find. 

“There are plenty of things I’d like to see, Jinora,” she replied with a smile. “But first let’s get to Air Temple Island.”

She let herself be pulled along. Pepper, Jinora’s flying bison, awaited them near the docks. She took up a lot of space and was quieter than Appa was. When they lifted off, Pepper barely made a noise. Katara felt nostalgic as the wind lapped across her cheeks, crisp and cool. She closed her eyes and listened.

_Thud._

She opened her eyes. Before her was a sight she thought she would never see again. In an instant, memories flooded her. She saw Kya and Bumi running through the courtyards, playing a prank on a couple of the acolytes. She saw Tenzin chastising a herd of lemurs after they had worked together to steal the kitchen’s store of apples.

She saw _him_ in every corner, in every room, behind every wall she walked to. The way he would greet her when she returned home from teaching her waterbending students, how he would praise her recipe of seaweed stew. She could see him on the balls of his feet, ready to latch onto her and take off on his glider.

She could see him laying in their bed that day, tired but with his characteristic joy on his face. “You look exhausted, Katara,” he had said to her. The hollows under his eyes were deep. “Please, rest.”

She had indulged him, gathering him close, smiling into his chest. Pain in her heart.

He had died the same way she found him: in her arms.

A voice interrupted her reverie. “Mother?” came the deep tenor of her youngest son, Tenzin. “You’ve been out here by yourself for a while. You should come inside. It’s getting late.”

Really, she told herself, Tenzin looked so much like him.

“I’ll come soon,” Katara responded. She barely noticed that it had come out in a whisper. She folded her hands on the banister of the pavilion, looking out into the sunset. “I want to stay here a little longer.”

Tenzin stopped beside her, tilting his head downward. His dark beard was unkempt. His blue arrow tattoo was bright on his forehead and was accentuated by the creases that appeared there. He sighed. “Your visit was a surprise,” he intoned.

“I thought it was time,” she replied. “It took me long enough.”

She could feel his stare on her as he searched for an answer. “You left for a reason. I’m sure it will take—”

“And that reason is still the same, Tenzin,” she interrupted, lips thinning. She let out a breath, looking to him. “But it really has been too long since I’ve been home.”

“Home?”

She nodded. “The South Pole will always be my home,” she remarked, turning her attention back to the pink horizon. “But this…this is the place where I made my own family. This is my home too. Where you are, where Kya and Bumi are, that’s home.”

Tenzin left her after that, and in his place came Jinora. The soft footfalls did not deter Katara from moving. Now, the sun was gone, and all was left was the deep midnight blue that blanketed the stars.

She had found herself sitting cross-legged on the pavilion floor. Her back was as straight as she could get it. Though her spine creaked, she sat there as if nothing bothered her. She stared at the empty space by her side. When Jinora came to fill it, she shoved back her thoughts.

“He used to mediate here,” Katara stated, letting the words flow through her without any prompting.

Her granddaughter looked at her without any pity, just the same love and grace that she always had. The two of them had become closer in the three years since Unalaq challenged fate with Harmonic Convergence. Jinora had been to the Spirit World in search of Korra. Katara had helped any way she could, keeping Jinora’s body alive for as long as possible until she escaped with her life and spirit.

“There’s someone there who misses you,” Jinora had told her, and Katara knew who it was. She had asked to be taught how to enter the Spirit World.

After, there were too many things that occurred. When the Red Lotus made their move, there was a panic deep-seated in the failures of the past. Lord Zuko had returned to the fray, keeping his promise to protect Korra—the same promise that Sokka had made. Things became complicated. There was too much to do, too many people to save and heal. Katara had her hands full, and Jinora was needed to help train the new airbenders.

When Korra had fallen ill, Katara had forgotten about her request. She spent years with Korra, directing her, encouraging her. Her pupil was in pieces, and she wanted to put her back together again. “Find meaning in your suffering,” she had advised Korra. “Just like him.” Just like Katara knew she could, and it was not because she was the Avatar, but because she was Korra.

But now that Korra had grown into a woman, now that Katara was no longer needed, she wanted something for herself. A wish that resounded in her soul since the day it happened. Just one moment. Just one, and then she could let go.

She had never gotten her goodbye, and in turn, the shadow of her love became grief. It was not the same as her mother, father, grandmother, Sokka, or any of her friends. There was never any closure, not for the dead, and surely not for the living left behind.

She had faced Yon Rha, faced her mother’s killer and confronted him with her rage. Her lack of forgiveness for his actions did not faze her, but it let her forgive herself. Her father, grandmother, and Sokka had all lived long, fulfilling lives.

However, when she lost him, it felt unfair. Fifty-four years, and that was all they had. They were supposed to meet their grandchildren together.

“You miss Grandpa Aang a lot, don’t you?” asked Jinora, leaning into her side. Katara had not noticed that she had sat next to her. Her granddaughter was warm against her, a steady hearth of comfort.

“Yes,” agreed Katara, “but I’ve learned to live with it.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Gran Gran,” said Jinora.

Katara smiled, her lips brushing against her granddaughter’s temple.

“It’s easier now, you know,” supplied Jinora, “to enter the Spirit World. Korra and Asami went on a vacation together there a few weeks ago.”

Katara blinked, staring at her with wide eyes. Jinora was too smart for her own good. “Is it?” she asked, not saying any of her thoughts aloud.

Her granddaughter smirked. “I know you want to try it,” she said. “I know that’s one of the reasons why you’re here, not just to visit us. I haven’t forgotten about our promise. I still have to teach you. But maybe, I don’t have to. Maybe, I just have to go with you.”

-

The thing about Jinora was that she was so much like Katara when she was a teenager. She was stubborn, steadfast, willing to do what it took to get what she wanted. Katara knew that both Tenzin and Pema would not want their daughter to go on an unsupervised venture into the Spirit World, not matter the reason. She gave her son credit for letting Jinora have more freedom now that she was a master airbender, but she knew he was still raw from the last time she was trapped in the Spirit World and Katara understood that.

So, naturally, they left in secret.

After a few days of being with her family, Jinora and Katara made their plans. They snuck out in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep. They set up the pretense that they were up late trading stories as they were prone to doing anyway. Everyone, even Meelo, believed it.

Jinora blew away their footprints on their way to the dock. Katara created a mist upon the water, covering their boat as she steered it with waterbending to the shoreline. It was easy after that. Not many people wanted to be so close to the spirit portal.

Jinora held her hand. “The Spirit World can be a little strange,” she informed her. “Things might not be what they seem. We just have to stick together.”

Katara held onto her hand tight as they stepped into the light. It flooded her vision, blinding her for a long moment. Her eyes throbbed. A whooshing sound came, pushing her forward into an invisible barrier, then through it in seconds. When the golden light cleared, she was in a field of browning grass that swayed in the breeze.

There was a forest that dotted their path, winding around them in an unending maze. The leaves were drifting, floating to the ground. They were popping with autumn hues. Brunt orange, red, deep yellow. They crunched under her feet. Above them, the sky was a perpetual gray. She felt a chill.

“Wow,” marveled Jinora. “It’s looks so different from the last time I was here.”

The Spirit World was serene, so unlike Katara expected it to be. There was nothing in the air that made her feel uneasy. Instead, she felt comfortable. She felt like she was meant to be there, as if she were simply passing through.

In the distance, she could see the shape of a volcano, so out of place in a setting with cool weather. She stepped forward, following Jinora through a jumble of branches.

“Hey!” screeched a glowing fire lily under her foot. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” apologized Katara.

As she lifted her foot, she thought she could hear the flower gasp. “It’s you!” it exclaimed somehow. There was no visible mouth to speak of. “Come through, come through! The spirits here are your friends…to both of you!”

“What?” sputtered Jinora at Katara’s side.

“You’re Master Jinora and Master Katara, of course,” explained the flower. “One of you saved us from Vaatu, and the other one is friends of the Moon Spirit and the Painted Lady! Not to mention that both of you are friends to Raava too! You’re always welcome here!”

The forest seemed to open just as the spirit finished. The branches bent away. The leaves on the ground scattered into piles on either side, little rabbit-like creatures peeking out from underneath them with curious eyes. The path led up a hill, and on that hill was the silhouette of a person.

They found him at the base of a maple tree, a pile of scrolls next to him. There were acorns strewn about, leaves hovering downward in slow motion, as if stuck in time. A plate of miniature fruit tarts was on his other side, berries of all shapes and sizes surrounding the crusts. He did not seem to notice them. He reached out and picked up a tart, biting into it with a satisfied smile.

It was that smile that she recognized most of all. He was young, younger than she last remembered him. He must have been in his thirties, around the age they had Tenzin. His face was without wrinkles, his beard still close-cropped and neat. His eyes were the same silver she admired, the same glittering mischievousness somewhere residing in them. He was handsome with a kind look. The man she had loved. 

Katara finally said his name, finally let herself think it too. “Aang!” she exclaimed. Her voice cracked at the end.

“Grandpa!” called Jinora at the same time.

He glanced up in surprise, dropping both the scroll in his lap and the tart. He shot up to his feet and they ran to meet each other. He hugged Jinora, laughing. When the two of them pulled apart, he turned to look at Katara.

Jinora took a step backward, beaming. And then, it was as if there was nothing else in the world but Katara and Aang.

There was a space between them, an imperceptible, impossible space. Just a breath, and she was his. She had forgotten what it was like to kiss someone so fervently, to hold someone tight and never let go.

She forced herself away. She tugged her wizened palms to her chest. “I’m old,” she muttered, turning her face away. She felt shy, as if she were meeting him for the first time. She was older than the form he had chosen, an ancient woman compared to his youth.

His knuckles brushed on her cheek and he guided her gaze to his. “You’re beautiful,” he said.

She lifted her eyes to meet his. The tears threatened to overflow.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re old,” he continued, “You’ll always be you. You’ll always be Katara.” His body flickered and he changed into the age he was when he left the material world, laugh lines and all.

She let out a sob and she was holding him again. “You’re here,” she said, shaking. “You’re here and I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re here too,” he spoke into her hair, “and it’s thanks to Jinora.”

She hummed in agreement.

“I’m sorry I left you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

When they parted another time, they included Jinora in their embrace. They laughed together, sitting on the grassy knoll. Katara shared how she and their granddaughter had plotted a splendid escapade so that their meeting could happen. They shared the fruit tarts, Jinora commenting about they reminded her of the ones her mother made, and Aang saying that he had been the one to teach her the recipe.

He spread the scrolls on the ground, pointing out different drawings and spiral patterns. He explained that he had gotten them from Wan Shi Tong’s library to learn more about the past Air Nomads. Katara was so happy for the pride in his voice, that even after he had left his life behind, he could find what was lost of his people.

A wind blew by, and Aang glanced upward with a sudden look of trepidation.

“What is it, grandpa?” asked Jinora, furrowing her brows.

“There’s something I want to make with you, Jinora,” he said, deflecting her concern. “You and Katara.” He exhaled, flipping through another scroll and pausing on a vivid painting. He gestured to it. “This. A sand mandala.”

Jinora blinked. “But don’t you need years of training to make that? And isn’t it a ceremony?”

“Yes,” he agreed. He did not look at her as he spoke. Instead, he was looking at Katara. “But I think we can bend the rules this one time. I think it’s something important.”

The three of them stood together, and a round wooden table appeared as if from nowhere. A stenciled shape of a geometric pattern carved itself onto the surface, and multiple bowls of sand of different colors popped into sight on top.

“Aang,” started Katara, “what…?”

He held her hands. “The Spirit World isn’t an afterlife,” explained Aang carefully. “It’s another world. For the Avatar, each of our lives have the ability to travel from here, to the material world, to the afterlife. But I haven’t been needed here anymore…and I haven’t been since the connection between Korra and the other Avatars was lost. Since the connection was lost, most of the others have left. They’ve moved on.”

“What are you saying?” Katara trembled.

“I’d chosen not to leave,” he said. “Not yet. Not unless there was a chance I could see you again. But now that I have, the others are calling to me. We shouldn’t be apart for too long. Even if we are all different people, we are all part of each other.”

She could not respond.

“Please Katara,” he implored, “this is something I need to teach Jinora so that the new airbenders can pass on this knowledge for future generations. This is something I want you and I to teach them together.”

Just like that, he had won.

“Grandpa Aang,” smiled Jinora between them, “Gran Gran…let’s do this. Together.”

It was surreal being with him again, working in tandem with each other, knowing when one moved and the other would not. If she imagined her reunion with Aang before, it had not included doing what they were doing now. Aang had always had an impulsive streak, wanting to jump from one topic to another at a moment’s notice. But as he grew into adulthood, that impulsiveness became something that denoted meaning. There was always a reason he asked for something to be done, always a motive behind his actions. None of it was bad. In fact, she had learned that much of what he did came from the place of wisdom.

“Normally, we have a chant and a ceremony we don’t show to many outsiders,” he told them. “There are metal tubes we use to guide the sand into patterns. But not now. Now, the most important thing is to teach you the meanings. A mandala is the universe. Its symbols are our teachings, Jinora…many of which your Gran Gran understands herself.”

Katara glimpsed his knowing grin, and suddenly she was thrust into the past. After all this time, they still understood each other. His shoulder brushed against hers. He let their fingers touch, pointed to where blue sand should go, where red should edge against the white. Jinora giggled as she made a mistake on a swirling lotus, making it look like a rather lopsided carnation instead.

“Our universe needs compassion, so we represent it here,” Aang said, pointing to the center.

Harmony was why they worked in cooperation together. He told them where it meant to love and be kind, where something said to have compassion for all others, to be selfness in your joy, to exert a levelheaded calm throughout life.

She thought she could hear music. Thrumming, a cacophony of indistinct instruments moaning in the background. Reverberations wavered in the air, as if a horn played on a far-off mountain.

“It represents a journey,” spoke Jinora with an air of realization, “the human journey.”

They shifted the sands more together. It was chaotic, not nearly as impressive or intricate as it should have been for such a sacred practice, but Katara found that maybe that was the point. It was intimate, unlike any experience she had. She felt a warmth in her belly, a pounding in her heart.

And then, she said it together with him. “Let your spirit be free.”

Katara did know, and she did understand. Maybe it was not in the same way Aang had, but in her own way this teaching was hers. It had been twenty-one years since she lost him, and yet here he stood. He was still gone, and would go away soon again, but there was peace edging the thought this time. She would take her own advice.

Katara found meaning in her suffering.

“…and though our lives are messy, they’re also beautiful,” he said. He had not stopped looking at Katara. “So beautiful.”

Jinora smiled, and Katara found herself smiling too.

“And,” Aang added, voice softening, “none of it is permanent.”

He reached his hand out to Katara’s from the other side. Their fingers curled around each other. He mouthed Jinora’s name, his love for her and his grandchildren. He told her to tell them all he would never forget them.

“I promise that one day when the time is right,” murmured Aang so that only Katara could hear, “we will be together again.”

He bent forward and blew on the mandala. A cloud of color rose into the air. Katara felt his fingers leave hers. He disappeared in a swirl of sand.

For once, the Avatar was allowed to rest.

The mandala was gone, and so was he. Katara thought she would feel a sense of loss. She felt calm. There was nothing that could make the ache go away forever, but there was always a life to live. Equanimity, just as the symbols had meant. But a part of that meant acceptance. When she looked at Jinora, she found her meaning.

This was her truth, her reason to continue. Not her closure, but her faith. Those left on earth needed her, and that at least, was an extension of the love she thought she lost.

“Impermanent,” Jinora said softly. The two of them stood side-by-side. “Just like anything made by sand.”

“Goodbye,” Katara said under her breath. But it was goodbye for now. Until they met again.

There was no response, and she did not expect one. She stepped out into the midday rush of Republic City. Jinora brought them far away from the portal, and neither of them looked back.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read Turning Page, I mention a sand mandala. The idea of impermanence, and the intimate experience of creating one together made this story. There was something beautiful (in my head), about how that looked. I wanted an exploration of a lost culture to be part of it, but I wanted it to mean something to Katara as well. Who, after all this time, was still missing Aang. The symbolism in the mandala is based in reality, but bear in mind that each mandala can be different. I am also obviously not trained in making them. One of the meanings behind a mandala is life not being permanent. That nothing is permanent. When monks brush away the sand (because they brush it away in real life), this is generally what it means.


End file.
